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Sunday, January 8, 2012

Week Two

It was a great start to the new year.
I'm writing a new story and working on old ones, all at the same time.
My kids are ready for school [and so am I! Ready for them to go to school. haha].

What do I say? I'm thinking on a story.

Let's play a game ...let's say you're on vacation and you meet someone [imagine it, you're single]. On the coast, pick a town, any town. A local guy/gal. What do they do? Own a shop? Wait tables? Life guard? You meet... you talk...

Tell me [G-rated-like, maybe PG] about your first date. :D
Who started it? Where do you go? What is the one thing that happens on this date that makes you fall head over heels?

2 comments:

OK. Camden, Maine. It's late spring, just starting to get really warm out. I'm on a busman's holiday – I'm a nature photographer taking a break from being in the backwoods by taking a few shots around the town. While sitting at an outdoor cafe enjoying the sea breeze, I notice a young woman walking along some of the gardens in the town, not seeming to be in any particular hurry or going to any particular destination. As she moves about, I notice that appears to fit in so well with her surroundings – the bay, the flowers, the blue sky, enhancing her beauty. Wherever she goes is like a perfectly modeled shot, and yet she is obviously unaware that she is being watched.

Since I am a photographer, I always seem to have a camera at ready, so I being to look at her through the viewfinder, taking a few shots. As she moved down the lane, I hurriedly pay my bill and follow her.

As we moved along the streets, I begin taking more shots, and forget that I have no idea who this woman is. Soon, I begin to forget the other people in the town as I work in closer for a better picture. Eventually, I get so close that she notices me as I'm taking a shot.

At that point the dialog would go something like this:

“Excuse me, but have you been taking my picture?” she said with obvious displeasure.

He felt an uneasiness in his stomach as he replied.

“Do you always go around taking people's pictures without asking?”

“Well, no,” he said. “I don't really take pictures of people at all - usually.”

She tilted her head and looked as if she was expecting more of an explanation.

“I take pictures of wildlife – animals, birds, scenic areas and such. As a profession.”

“Then, what were you doing?” she asked. “I'm not the scenery.”

“But you were,” he replied. “You were the scenery. I've never seen anyone that was such a natural model.”

“A model? You must be joking?”

“Seriously. I am a professional photographer. It was the easiest shoot I've ever done. I don't think I have a bad shot of you in the bunch.”

She looked back incredulously.

“I can show you – not out here, but,” he said looking around, “there's a coffee shop over there. It'll be dark enough to see the screen on the camera.”

She looked into his eyes, trying to decide if she should indulge the stranger.

“I'll even buy you a coffee,” he said, more as a question than a statement.

“All right. But if things aren't as you say, I still may call the police.”

“The coffee, or the pictures?”

She smiled just a bit as she responded, “Either.”

- - -

OK. We talk a while, the pictures are good, and we get around to the point where I ask about her.

- - -

“I know I've already pried into your life a bit more than I should have, but I don't even know your name.”

“Marjorie.“

“Do you live here?”

“All my life,” she said wistfully.

“You make that sound bad.”

“I don't know. I've been wondering if I should leave this town. I – I'm a writer, or I'm trying to be when I'm not working at the souvenir shop. I've had a few books published, mostly about local legends, old stories, and such. I've been wondering if I should get out and see more things, maybe find something new to write about.”

“What's to stop you?”

“This is home. It's comfortable. And it is a nice place. I guess it's partly fear of the unknown.”

- - -

And they talk some more and meet up again. Where they end up, who knows...